


sound of my heels

by nohatoclato



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, It's not as bad as it looks, Kent Parson Enjoys the Finer Things, Kent Parson/Alcholic Beverages, Kent Parson/All My Love and Affection, M/M, Mental Health Issues, They Live In Russia, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-02 07:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8658544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nohatoclato/pseuds/nohatoclato
Summary: There's only one thing Kent has ever gotten on his knees for. Prayer ain't it. Oh well.  (He moved to Russia to be with his love, and to leave his past life behind. Ends, however, are never truly sealed.)(Or, Kent Parson, mobwife to the biggest, meanest man Moscow has ever seen, learns the hard way that there's always a scar, even when the wound is healed.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from: The Moment by Tame Impala
> 
> follow me @ caeserdream.tumblr.com

There's a lot of ice in Moscow. More than enough for hockey, yes, but Russians take shit too seriously. Hockey games turn into Kent prying his boyfriend's friends off of one another. Not worth it, so the sticks, goals and pucks just sit somewhere in the house, collecting dust. 

Honestly, so does Kent.

He'd fallen in love with the house when Alexei had first showed it to him. The enchanting open floor plan, the white marble countertops, the elegant, winding staircase, and the balconies peering out onto Russia's frigid glory. The expensive velvet loveseat that dips when he plops down, but maintains it's plushness and makes him feel like he's warming his ass with fat stacks of cash (because he is, and it's a pleasant reminder every time he sits), but the wonder has faded, and the house is so hollow.

 

 _THUNK THUNK THUNK THUNK!_ "I'm home, my love!"  _THUNK THUNK THUNK THUNK!_ Alexei's booming voice rattles him out of his cosy state. 

"No shoes in the house! I  _mopped_ , Alexei, dammit!"

"Sorry." Kent tries to re-cozy himself. But Alexei isn't finished.

"Where are you, Ken?" The blanket is torn off of his body before he can reply, and he's being lifted from the loveseat like he weighs next-to-nothing. To Alexei, he probably does.

"Why you are hiding from me?" Alexei carries him to the marble countertops. The cold pierces through his thin pajama bottoms.

"I wasn't, I was taking- ah!" Alexei's lips hit his neck and he doesn't feel like finishing his sentence. Any of them, ever. The words will have to die wherever they are, mind or throat.

"Ballet, tonight." 

"Mhm." Is the most Kent can get out at the moment, oh, God, Mashkov is using tongue.

"You wear those trousers? The ones I like?"

He means the ass-sculpting ones that Kent reserves just for ballet night, once a year. The ones that mysteriously wind up on the floor of their bedroom, every ballet night, once a year.

"Yeh." Kent is Alexei's panting bitch right now, his words spilling out of his mouth at quarter-volume. 

"You are alright, Kenny?" Alexei, probably, genuinely doesn't know what he's doing to Kent.

"Ship-shape." Kent warbles. "Just missed you."

Alexei bites his bottom lip. "What time is it?"

"Uhm," Kent cranes his neck to the microwave/oven wall combo and squints- "5. Why?"

"Four hours, before ballet start."

Kent would race him to their bedroom if he was truly up to it. He doesn't, though and dives in to kiss him, letting Alexei do the lifting. 

"Weigh as much as bag of rice, Kenny."

"Just hush."

 

If he'd have known he was going to come and sweat this much, he wouldn't have washed Alexei's sheets. It's a shame, how often they've wasted clean bedding.

"You," Alexei has to take two gulps of stale, sex-air. "You- how you do that to me?"

"Hockey hamstrings, daddy." Kent purrs, swiping soggy blonde hair out of his face. "It's all in my magical, yet pasty thighs."

Alexei gives them a squeeze, as if he's testing whether or not Kent is lying about the magic in them.

"I feel like I just ran ten-thousdand."

"Two thousand? You mean a 10k? Well, they say I give men a run for their money." Kent wiggles, feeling, in his ass, the place where their bodies are still joined.

"Who? Who say? What men?" The meaty hands on his things slide up to his hips, and Alexei sounds murderous.

"It's a figure of speech. I don't even think I used it correctly." Kent switches over to Russian. It's gotten way better than it was when they started dating. He's picked up slang on the street and from Alexei's fucked-out pillow talk, he downloaded Duolingo, and his accent isn't shitty, but he doesn't feel comfortable when he's using Russian, he feels like he's intruding. But Alexei acted like a damn puppy when he'd started to learn, and he'd reminded himself that it was selfish trying to keep teaching Alexei to be fluent in a language barely anyone they knew was using. So they'd opted to meet each other halfway: a little bit of Russian here, and a little bit of English there. It works. 

 

"Apologies." Alexei replies, in Russian.

"No worries. Would you like to go again?"

"Would you?"

"It's your choice," Kent offers. Secretly he's not up for it, but there's an obnoxious tingling, deep inside of him, and sex has proved itself to be a good distraction for the both of them, at times.

"No, I'm tired. You spoil me, my sunshine."

"You started it, pal." Kent grunts, in English. He lifts himself of of Alexei and onto the floor. "You can join me, in the shower."

Alexei rolls off of their bed, groaning and popping his neck. "I will change sheets."

Kent limps to the connected bathroom, inner thighs rubbing together in that, only slightly, irksome way. He's eager to scrub away the filmy sweat and half-dried come from his body. He grabs two plush towels from the cabinet and leans down to adjust the shower head.

Alexei lumbers in as steam fills the room, raking his fingers through his hair and pilfering behind the mirror until he pulls out a bar of soap.

"'Lexei? What is that?" Kent's eyes are glued to the side of his face, at the rust-colored smudge starting at his temple and trailing to his jawline, kind of shaped like Florida. 

Alexei runs his tongue over his teeth. In Russian, he says, "No cause for alarm, my love."

Alexei pulls him into the shower, presses him agains the tiled wall, hot water sloshing over their bodies. Alexei drops to his knees, hands him the shampoo. "Wash my hair, Ken?"

"How do you expect me to focus on your hair when you-oh!" Kent's vision fuzzes at the edge when Alexei puts that mouth on him, but he squirts shampoo in his palm and rakes his fingers through it as best as he can. "God. Tilt your- turn-"

"Hmm?" Alexei can't ask anything with dick in his mouth, and the vibration rattles through Kent and it's so damn good, he almost topples over.

"Oh fuck! Shit, I just- mm- I just wanted you to tilt your head a little, so I can- God- get that off of your face." Kent chokes out, body still tingling with shock and embarrassment. "Falling in the shower while receiving blowjob" is not on his list of ways to die. The smudge comes off with a gentle scrape and Alexei's purr blossoms through his whole body.

"'M gonna fuckin' blow, Alexei, you- agh!"

Alexei swallows and pulls off with a soft  _pop_ , pants up at him, shampoo running down the sides of his smirking face.

"Don't- mm- don't look so fucking smug." Kent pants, but his voice lacks the conviction, instead he's winded like someone running for their life. His knees threaten him with the prospect of buckling, and Kent is sure all of his energy went sliding down Alexei's throat with his come. The steam and orgasm muddle his brain.

"Thank you," he croaks, in Russian, when Alexei wraps him in one of their plush towels and hauls him into their bedroom.

"Anything for you, my sweet love." 

In English, Kent asks. "Was that blood?"

"No worry, my sweet," Alexei assures him. "Not mine."

 

He does the math, as he pulls on his underwear and sets his alarm for one hour. Show at 9. Alexei got home at 5. Sex for an hour. 15 minute shower. Hour long nap leaves an hour to get ready, and it takes 40 minutes to get to the performance hall from where they live. 

"Me smart," Kent mutters. 

Alexei looks up from the bed. "You what?"

"Nothing. Go to sleep."

"Ballet?"

"I've set my alarm for one hour, which is the time we have. Don't waste it, just trust me." 

Alexei is sleeping by the time Kent makes it into the bed.

 

Kent's body gives him 20 minutes before he's up, digging for his ballet suit out of the walk-in closet and fumbling with it in the dark. He stubs his toe and cusses a little too loudly. Instantly, his eyes dart to his sleeping husband's mass, and he huffs with relief when Alexei continues to snurfle.

 

Kent's ears ache for the slightly erotic sound of wine trickling into a glass. A glass of won't hurt anyone. Neither will tow. The cork pops off like it's been waiting for 30 years. It has. In the distance, a siren wails and the glowing white marble jabs at Kent's hips. 

 

He drifts back up the stairs for the alarm and finds Alexei sitting up in bed.

"Couldn't sleep," Kent explains, before he can ask. He fiddles with his cufflinks, white diamonds glinting in the moonlight. "If you want to be on time, you should get ready."

 

He pours the second glass while Alexei shuffles around for his shoes and his keys and his wallet. The shorthair prances in front of him, chin tilted up for scratchies. "My little princess."

 

"Fuck!" Alexei's Russian fills the whole house, but the sound comes from the left of Kent. When he looks, Alexei is yanking open drawers, like he's searching for a fortune. 

"Language, please." Kent shoots back, in English.

"My keys and my phone? Where are they?" Alexei uses Russian when he's anxious, it's too much of a hassle to make his English comprehensible. Kent doesn't strive to be an asshole; he uses it, too.

"Why would they be in the knife drawer?"

"They aren't anywhere else."

"So they're in the  _knife_ drawer? Did you check your jacket pocket?"

"Yes," Alexei mutters.

"Which one?"

"The brown one."

"You wore the blue one today, remember?" Kent sighs. "That's probably where it is."

Alexei snaps his fingers, kisses the back of Kent's head, and rushes upstairs.

"Your other daddy is gonna make us late, beautiful girl," Kent rubs kits ears as Alexei gives a triumphant cry from upstairs.

 

He's glad he drank white, not red. Red makes him dizzy, but it's good with pasta, so that's a pro. Every kind of alcoholic beverage has it's pros. Alcohol is a pro in itself.

 

The ballet is some fantasy piece about the woods and fairies and a witch and true love prevailing, or something. The composer was a German man who died of tuberculosis in his thirties. At least that's what the pamphlet says, as much as his alcohol-addled brain and the dark theatre will let him see. It's beautiful and he tries to be as enthralled as his husband is, he really tries, but the ballerinas dance on, despite his dying interest, their slate-gray tulle skirts spinning and spinning, and it reminds him of Kit's soft gray fur and her little scrunchy face. They lift themselves on their long, strong legs and it reminds him how much flexibility pays and how fast Alexei would pop a boner if Kent could lift his legs behind his head like that. 

Is this a White Wine Thing™, all of a sudden? Is he always going to get horny or distracted when he drinks white wine?

 

The first act ends, and Kent finds that his bladder is uncomfortably full, so he shimmies down the aisle to the lobby, to the bathroom, and he relieves himself and he goes back out to the "bathroom lobby", as Alexei calls it (the room where the seats are, where you can't watch people piss, and you just wait for them to get out, instead) and he sits on the chaise lounge sofa.

He falls asleep to the sound of chatter outside of the bathroom wall, and wakes up when Alexei bursts, in stroking his face and his forehead. "I was looking for you. Kenny? You are okay?"

Kent looks around, expecting to be somewhere else maybe, his own bed, maybe. He's in the performance hall, men's "bathroom lobby", sleep lines on his face, probably. He places his hand over Alexei's, kissing the side of his thumb. "I'm alright, my husband." He answers in Russian. He leans on Alexei as he guides them back to their seats. They sit as the intermission is ending.

The band warms up again. The lights dim again. The curtain rises, again.

And the show goes on.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gorsh i should be doing chem rn oh well

**THE BLACK FALCON**

_A glitzy night at Russia's ritziest performance hall brings out it's most prominent citizens._

I was joined by Russia's finest at Mikhailov's performance hall for a captivating showing of Grisha Abrimov's  _Dance of the Forest._ It was a star studded occasion,

featuring Fyodor Petrikov, of Russia's critically acclaimed TV Drama  _The Snow,_ and retired defenseman for RNIHT, Alexei Mashkov, accompanied by guest, Kent

Parson. The performance was recommended to me by a friend in the States. 

READ MORE


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS HOE ASS CHAPTER GOT DELETED THE FIRST TIME I FCKIN WROTE IT I'M NOT PLAYIN WIT U AO3 DO EXACTLY AS I ASK YOU UGLY ASS Mf
> 
> i should probably be working on chem, to be fair,,,

He gets a call, sitting in his favorite cafe, across from Alyone, with her red dyed hair and big grin, warm and spanning 3/4 of her face. Her voice is smooth like chocolate and it's hard to forget that she is Alexei's younger sister; she looks jus tike him, tall with those soft brown eyes. Her English isn't as good as her brother's but Alexei's isn't perfect. In time, they'll probably pick it up; Alexei might teach her and their mother.

The wind bays outside, with the threat of showing, it'll be thick, it always is, and dry and he'll have to buy some face moisturizer and a scarf for Alexei.

Kent's phone buzzes in his coat pocket, one time and he thinks it's just a text, and then a second time and he fishes the Rose Gold out of his pocket. Alexei.

"Hi, baby." Kent hums.

The background noise is the track to a damn jungle, whoops and hollers like Howler monkeys. "I miss you when you are not with me, Kenny!"

Alexei's piercing voice cuts through the speaker, Kent grunts in surprise and Alyona looks up from her phone. "I miss you, too. Are you okay?"

"I am fine!" Alexei pauses, laughs loud and rattling at something in the distance. "But my friends, they hear about how I talk about you, they want to see you!"

"Alexei, I've met your friends, before."

Another loud laugh, "They say they were too drunk to remember your face. You come by, they see!"

"So, what, you want me to drive over to wherever you are? Where are you!"

"I text- ha!- I text you the address! I want to see you!" Alexei's scattered English is at a bark now, and Kent feels like everyone in the cafe can hear.

"I'll be there, Alexei."

 

"What does my brother ask for?" Alyona asks.

"He wants me to drive by someone's house to see his friends," Kent responds, pushing his arm back through his coat sleeves. "They were too drunk to remember me last time. They're probably drunk, right now.  _He's_ probably drunk, right now." 

Alyona guffaws and plucks her keys and coffee from the table. "His friends are animals, wild and drunk and loud."

"He loves them." Kent says, in Russian.

"Yes, but he loves you more. That's why he's letting you meet them, I think."

_Or he needs a designated driver._

Outside of the cafe, families huddle together to beat the cold, not without smiles on their faces as they march on as a unit.

"I will give you a drive in my car. Where do you need to go?" Alyona rolls her keys in her palm, breath fogging like smoke from a dragon's mouth.

 

Kent pulls up the address Alexei sent him and slides into the passenger seat. The ride is silent and short, ending at a sudden opening to the left of them, leading to a gated ring of huge houses. They wait a minute, the gates swing open and Alyona drives through them. 

Kent reads off the address again, and the house they find is a monster; starch white, 4 stories with tremendous surface area. Kent hires help to clean the house for Mondays and Thursdays. If they lived here, in this house Kent is sure was intended to make other houses shit their pants, Natalia would never see her kids again.

"I think this is it." Kent gives Alyona a slow hug, still dazed by the mammoth of the house they're sitting in the shadow of, when she reaches out to tug on his arm with a grip like her hand is welded to his forearm.

"You tell Will, the next time he cheats at poker, I'll shoot him in the fucking eye."

 

The house is dramatic, fussy, drafts blow through like ghosts. The maid escorts him up the sweeping white staircase with the thin black railing, his eyes are on the glittering chandelier above ether heads.

 

Kent steps into an open kitchen, with the biggest maple table he's ever seen, and-

- _holy shit._ What kind of Art Deco/Minimalistic hell did he just walk into? The men are playing cards and drinking under the low hanging, pear-shaped lights, in furniture that looks like half of a cracked egg. Paintings of abstract human bodies are displayed on the walls.

"You came," Alexei's free hand comes around the back of his neck, he squeezes a little, and the possessiveness of it sparks a burst of pleasure in the pit of Kent's stomach.

He vainly tries to reply over the yells and holler of the three other men, "I missed you, t--"

"Alexei! This is him, yes?" A man with sandy blonde hair and biceps like bricks are stuck in his arms rises and sticks out his hand to Kent. "He is much taller than you speak of!"

"I-he's still much taller than me." That's all Kent can say, and Alexei drapes himself over Kent like a blanket.

"Come," the man says. "Meet Dominic."

Kent wonders how fucking stoned these people are. He couldn't smell the marijuana in air when he walked in, but it's wrapped around him like Alexei is. He wonders how stoned Alexei is. The second-hand high might make it impossible for Kent to drive them home. 

Dominic is a salt-and-pepper man. Built like a damn brick house, with arms thick and firm and padded. He could pin kent down and kill him in two simple movements. His voice is baritone, and seems to tremble the air around all of them. "Kenneth! My cousin talk about you much!"

Kent thinks he can feel Alexei trembling beside him. it makes sense. Any man with half a brain would piss their pants, standing in Dominic's shadow. Kent looks up. No, Alexei is just too drunk to stand on his own.

"It's Kent. Very nice to meet you." Kent's Russian seems shittier than it usually is.

"Dominic Vasielev. Welcome to my home. Do you like?" He ushers Kent to a chair. Alexei hiccups behind him. Kent nods. 

"Do you like Vodka, Ken?"

Kent chews his bottom lip. "My husband is Russian. I drink it with breakfast."

Dominic erupts into loud, earth-rumbling peals of laughter. "Alyosha, nephew, this one is funny! Why we not meet sooner?"

"You have," Kent is warming up to this rhino of a man, and it's starting from his belly, where the vodka sloshes around. "You were drunk. Alexei's 34th, you danced on the countertop at his mini-bar. Took three men to get you down and to take you home."

Dominic snatches the bottle of vodka from the middle of the table, takes a swig that seems to last forever and almost chokes on it when he chortles, what can I say, eh? A man likes to party, likes to feel alive, nothing wrong with it!"

"Nothing wrong." Alexei echoes.

A man laughs from the couch, where the cloud of marijuana is at it's thickest, and a man is sitting behind it, in slim jeans and a taupe sweater. "You're going to poison your liver, Dominic. You hear me? You'll die, you arse."

Kent cranes his neck. The legs belong to a flame head with eyes like gold and freckles like Pollock's splatters. His face is rosy, the kind that alcohol gives you. Kent knows that blush. He looks angry, or disappointed, but he doesn't talk like that.

"Do you hear me, Dominic? You'll fockin' kill yerself."

Dominic finishes the bottle of vodka, some of it dribbles down his chin. "I hear you, you ugly Irishman."

Everyone laughs, but Kent doesn't think anything is funny. 

Will brings the joint to his lips and takes a protracted drag. Gathers the smoke in his mouth, than spits it out like it's offended him. He cranes his neck back, exposing a slender column of flesh, eyeing the Living Room door. "Altra! Altra!"

"What's he doing?" Kent whispers to Dominic.

"Calling his Doctor."

"Nurse! Derek!" 

A herd of elephants make their descent down the hallway, through the living room door. Kent realizes, it's just a young black guy with curly hair over his forehead, wearing a carrot-colored sweater and a pair of overalls. The laces of his Vans are untied, and he stumbles in his attempt to sit on Will's lap.

"What?" Derek pants.

Will squeezes his thigh, a glint dancing in his eyes as he murmurs, "Rá hello chun an t-aoi."

Derek squirms in his lap and rubs against his neck, before he separates from Will and cockily staggers over to Kent, holding out his hand. "Hi, I'm Derek. That's asshole." Derek points, over his shoulder, at Will, watching them. Will half-heartedly murmurs something.

"He said 'shut the fuck up'". Derek grins.

"To me?" Kent asks. 

"No, to me."

Alexei giggles at the table, sorting through a deck of playing cards. The room reeks and Derek walked over to Will on the couch, slotting their knees together and issuing him, slow and deep and Kent looks away.

"Have you heard of the Black Falcon, Alexei?" Kent's attention is drawn to the conversation between Dominic and Alexei at the table, where Dominic now has fat cigar wedged between his lips.

Alexei burps. "No."

Dominic shrugs. "It is just cheap, journalism. But Irina reads it everyday. She says it keeps her brain running smooth, then she says it is just something to read in the bathroom. I say it is not worth reading at all. But you would find it.. valuable, Alexei."

Alexei grunts and sucks through his teeth.

 

"Where are we? Kenny?" Alexei's groggy Russian fills the car.

"Driving to the mall," says Kent, weak from the exertion of lifting Alexei's heavy ass into the car. He's barely level-headed, and the alcohol buzzes around him like flies to an animal carcass. "Your friends got you drunk, now I'm taking us shopping."

 

Kent doesn't ever recall malls in America ever being this grand, Russia's 120% collective mindset makes U.S. consumerism look frail, by comparison.

 

The food court is where they go first, because Alexei needs protein to keep him on his feet. Kent buys him two of those sort of meat-pie things and some pierogis and a "medium" cup of water the size of a small bucket. The cashier think they're sharing until Kent asks for, "A small cup of borscht and a small water, for me, thank you." She glances up at Alexei.

They sit and eat for the most part, to ward off indigestion, but then Alexei stands up and grabs his coat, head tilted towards the shops.

 

There are some stores that could be found at an American mall, but there are a few things like Dimitri's, a sort of men's Victoria's Secret that you can only get in Russia.

"They're sexy like Victoria's, but comfortable like Hanes, you know?" Kent holds up a pair of boxer briefs for Alexei to examine. Alexei chews on his third pierogi and nods.

"Slow down, before you bite your tongue." Kent pulls a black v-neck off of a shelf and reads the size. "Are you a bit less drowsy, now? I'm going to try this on and I need you to come and tell me how I look."

Alexei tries to speak through his fifth pierogi and Kent holds his hand up. "No, you know what? I'll show you and you can just nod if you like it."

Alexei grins, and it's gross, because food is falling out of his mouth, but then he leans forward to kiss Kent on the jaw, and his heart gets all buzzy. "You've got ABC food in your mouth, and your breath smells like onions." He wants to be kissed again. 

Alexei tilts his head, swallowing down his pierogi. "What is, ABC?"

"What? The alphab-oh! Already Been Chewed food." Kent steps into a dressing room an clocks the door. "We used to say it all the time in America, when we were kids, whenever we found gum under our desks that someone had stuck there."

"Gum?" Alexei sounds skeptical as Kent peels off his shirt.

"Yeah, chewing hum. Hella gross."

Alexei unwraps his sixth pierogi, and Kent leans agains the door to ask for some. "Just, like, a piece, babe."

He opens the door and hold out his hand expectantly, and Alexei slides his phone through the crack in the door. "I meant a piece of-- oh."

He answers the phone to Alyona's heavy breathing. She pants, "Have you read? The article?" Her Russian is fading in and out with her breath.

"Slow down," Kent leans against the dressing rom door. "Did I read what? What article?"

"The Black Falcon. The article with you and Alexei at the ballet, last week?" 

"No," Alexei reopens the styrofoam box, and Kent reaches his hand through the crack in the door for a piece. "I haven't read it. Send me the link. Bye." 

He chews on a piece of pierogi as Alyona's text comes through. 

 

He pays for the shirt with his eyes on the article, sucking in the words about him and Alexei, while Alexei carries the bag with him to the next stores. He texts Alyona again, while Alexei browses winter coats.

I read the article. What's the problem?

**All of them?**

All of what? All of the problems?

**No, there are many articles, more than just one.**

More than one about Alexei and I?

**Yes. Search for your name and Alexei's.**

Kent turns up the brightness on his phone, types the Black Falcon's address into the search box. Alexei holds up a pair of boots.

"Nice, yes?"

"Yes, but where are you- what the hell-where are you-  _fuck-_ where are you going to wear them?"

While Alexei stares at the boots, Kent scrolls through the 30 articles in which his husband is the main topic. What starts off seeming like a fan's obsession, get increasingly accusing as Kent scrolls down. 

**AN INVESTIGATION INTO RUSSIA'S UNDERGROUND SYSTEM OF CRIME. IS ONE MAN AT THE HEART?**

 

What the fucking hell? 

**32 DISAPPEARENCES IN THE LAST YEAR, WHY ALEXEI MASHKOV IS TO BLAME**

What the  _fuck?_

Kent's eyes drift to the end of the article, where, lying directly under titles are the initials of the author. 

edited by: J.L.Z

 

"Alexei." His voice is weak and tired, his heart is ringing like a motherfucking gong.

Alexei looks up from the shelf of thermal underwear. 

"Baby, we need to go home." 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't ask my why it took so long to update this, honestly i don't know…
> 
> follow my queer ass @ caeserdream.tumblr.com


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